


Fair

by Satine86



Series: Lace Smut [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, No Plot/Plotless, Shameless Smut, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 09:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4560171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine86/pseuds/Satine86
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Honestly, it isn’t something he ever thought he would live to see: Cassandra Pentaghast in lace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fair

**Author's Note:**

> I had a 30 day writing challenge, one of the days was “lace” and this happened. I’ve never really written smut for the sake of smut. So.. uh.. enjoy?

Honestly, it isn't something he ever thought he would live to see: Cassandra Pentaghast in lace. 

It appears to be rather fine lace, too. Likely imported from some expensive shop in Val Royeaux, soft and delicate in the palest shade of lavender. The color offsets her skin quite nicely, bringing out the darker tones in a stark contrast. 

All in all, the lace is very nice. The nicest part of all, though, is how little of it there is.

Varric swallows, mouth having gone exceedingly dry, unable to tear his gaze away from the glorious sight before him. He's seen her in varying states of undress over the course of their relationship, much to his continued delight, so the vision of long legs and powerful thighs is nothing new. Nor is her toned stomach, and strong arms. 

Yet now, alone in his quarters, there is something painfully erotic about the fact that she isn't _completely_ naked, covered just enough to tease. The panties sit low on her hips, accentuating the rounded curve, and barely cover her ass. The matching brassiere looks to be little more than two swatches of fabric held together by fancy string, and so sheer he can make out the shadow of dusky nipples through it. 

It is ridiculous and flimsy and he swears he's going to tear it off with his teeth. 

Cassandra smiles at him, slow and secretive and dead fucking sexy. His breath hitches. She leans back against his desk, hands splaying on either side of her, one tanned leg crossing over the other and all he can think about is his face between them. 

After a moment, Varric remembers to breathe, sucking in a quick breath and letting it out slowly through his teeth. He wants to say something, he wants to make all sorts of eloquent proclamations about her unrelenting beauty and his love for her. 

Unfortunately all he can manage at the moment is a strangled, “hng.” 

“You like it then?” She tilts her head, one hand raising to trail a finger slowly across her collarbone. 

“Mwr,” he mumbles. 

“I will take that as a yes,” she says, smile widening. 

Varric laughs at that, a little hysterical. 'Like” is a gross understatement, and he has a hundred other words he could use instead. Shit, he could write her a fucking sonnet right now, an ode to a warrior goddess, if only he could make his brain work, get the words past his lips. 

He can't though. All he's capable of is sounding like an inarticulate drunkard leering at serving girls in some backward tavern. So instead he nods, eyes trailing slowly over her body, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. And perhaps he is, his mouth is still as dry as the Western Approach after all. 

Cassandra's gaze is dark, eyes hooded as she crooks a finger at him. “Come here, Varric.” 

There's no denying the request, especially not when he is more than happy to comply. Stopping in front of her, he wraps his arms about her waist, her own looping around his neck. That's when Varric finally finds his voice again. 

“I, uh,” he stops and clears his throat, voice hoarse. “I'm not exactly sure why this is happening, but I'm glad it is.” 

She cards her fingers through his hair, trails them across the back of his neck. “Perhaps I only wanted to do something nice for you?” 

“Nice? Shit, Seeker, this is a little more than _nice_.” 

The smile she offers in reply is downright wicked. “All right, perhaps I wanted to do something naughty for you.” 

She kisses him then, a slow sensual kiss that leaves him breathless. When she pulls back, she nips at his lower lip and sucks on it. He digs his fingers into her hips, suddenly all too aware of the tightness of his pants. Maker, he wants her. He wants her so badly he aches. 

Varric's hand glides across her stomach, trailing down and dips below the band of her panties. She parts her legs for him, and his fingers meet the dark thatch of hair before finding her sex. Hot and slick and she's so fucking wet her panties are nearly soaked through.

“I was thinking about you before you arrived,” she whispers in his ear, breath hot. “I was thinking about you while I pleasured myself.” 

“Fuck, Seeker,” he moans, hips bucking.

He needs her, needs to feel her, needs to taste her. But before he can even ponder everything he's going to do to her, she's pulling his hands free and worming away from him.

“I have plans,” she says. “Now strip.” 

He obeys, partly to see what game she's playing, but mostly because he hopes it brings him one step closer to making her scream. He's half hard already and the look in her eyes, heated and full of desire, makes his cock twitch with want.

After a moment her eyes dart toward to the corner of the room. “On the bed.”

“Full of orders today, I see.” He grins as he follows her instruction, settling himself against the pillows. 

“For now,” she says, kneeling on the bed by his feet. “Perhaps you can be the boss later.”

“You shouldn't make promises you don't intend to ke-ah!” he ends on a hiss as Cassandra wraps her fingers around his length, squeezing gently. 

“We'll see later,” she says. “For now I have a plan.” She bends at the waist, breath warm as she hovers over his cock before replacing her hand with her mouth. She uses her lips and tongue to coax a strangled moan out of him, before taking his length and sucking hard enough to hallow her cheeks. The sight, let alone sensation, is almost too much to bear and he ruts against her mouth. 

“Fuck,” he moans, head dropping back against the pillows. 

Her hand grasps him again, and she starts trailing kisses over hip, up his stomach. Eventually she finds her way to his mouth, kissing him roughly. He reaches out for her, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other palming her breast, the lace soft against his hand. 

When he rolls her nipple between his fingers, she moans into his mouth, nips at his lip. Emboldened by her kisses, drunk off her ministrations, he trails his hand over her stomach and down to the wetness between her legs. However, this seemed to be the wrong thing to do. 

She pulls back and grabs his hand, forcing it back to his side. 

“Not yet,” she says. 

“Cassandra.” He is close to whining, and frankly he doesn't care. “Just let me touch you.” 

“No.” She returns her attentions back to his cock, warm mouth and gentle hand and it's all a little too much.

He bites back a groan. “You're killing me here, Seeker.” 

“That,” she whispers and presses a kiss to the inside of his thigh, “is the plan.” She moves up and with a deliberate slowness that has him practically writhing, licks his cock from base to tip. 

Varric's fingers reach out, tangling in her hair, as a strangled noise escapes his throat. He is close, dangerously fucking close. She might have had her own plan, but he has one of his own. And he'll be damned if it flies out the window. 

Sitting up slightly, he pulls her up to meet his eyes. “Cassandra,” he rasps, “please.”

Varric is certain he could write novels about wickedness of the grin that slowly blooms on her face. “Oh, Varric, there is no need to beg.” 

He pinches her thigh in retaliation, and she starts to laugh even as she tries to squirm away. Then he's pulling her close, dragging her forward until she's straddling his lap. She settles against him with a mischievous smile, rocking her hips just so, tearing a pleasured moan from both their throats. 

Cassandra continues rocking against him as he kisses her hard, desperate and full of want. He dips a hand between them, thumb brushing against her clit. The noise she makes comes from deep in her throat, and she throws her head back, fingers digging almost painfully into his shoulders. 

She arches against him, breasts all but shoved in his face and he's not entirely sure she hasn't done it on purpose. Still he dips his head, laying kisses across her chest and the swell of each breast, his thumb still working against her clit and making her squirm. 

The noises she's making, all breathy moans and happy sighs, and the way she's grinding her hips against him, it's all way too much, and now the fact she's not _completely_ naked is no longer erotic but aggravating. 

“You're wearing too much,” he mumbles against the column of her throat. 

“I am hardly wear-AH,” she stops, words lost in a gasp when he takes her breast in his mouth, rolling his tongue over her nipple. Lacy bra be damned. Her fingers loosen their grip on his shoulders, instead digging into his hair. “I am hardly wearing anything,” she finishes, voice husky and low with her desire. 

“Still too much.” He's about ready to go through with his earlier decision to rip it off with his teeth, when she shifts, rocking forward until she's pinned him against the bed. 

He's not exactly sure how she managed it, but fuck if it wasn't hot. 

She straightens up, hands reaching up to undo whatever kept that ridiculous – and wonderful and sexy – piece of fabric on her person. Sliding it off, she tosses it aside and drops her hands to brace them on his chest. 

“Better?” she asks. 

“Fuck,” is all he can manage because she's leaning over him with hooded eyes, flushed cheeks, and swollen lips. He can smell her arousal and Maker, he doesn't think he's ever been this hard in his life. 

He reaches out, palms her breasts, thumbs brushing against her nipples. She allows it for a short time, eyes fluttering shut, but eventually she grabs his wrists and pulls his hands away. 

“I have a plan,” she says again, placing his hands on the bed. 

“Cassandra,” he warns.

She looks at him, shakes her head slightly, and slips off him. He's tempted to follow her but she gives him a stern look. So he stays put. Though he enjoys the show as she slips off the little lace panties, dropping them over the side of the bed. She kneels next him, and he takes in every glorious inch of her body. 

“I thought about this all day,” she informs him, “about you.” And he realizes she's touching herself, one hand on her breast, rolling her nipple into a hard nub, the other hand working slowing at the cleft between her legs. 

He swallows hard, breath hissing out through his nose. “I.. ehg...uh....” he tries for words, but they fail him again as all the blood rushes to his cock, and he's aching and she's beautiful and he's pretty sure he's forgotten how to breathe.

“What's that?” she drawls and heat pools in his belly at the look on her face. “Is Varric Tethras, the infamous wordsmith, at a loss? And twice in one day, no less.” 

He takes in a shuddering breath and she is practically gloating. Wicked woman. “What do you want?”

“What do you want, Varric?”

He laughs then, slightly strangled, and locks eyes with her. “I want to fuck you until you're screaming. No,” he amends, “I want to fuck you until you're screaming my name.”

“Perhaps that is what I want too?” There's a challenge in her eyes, the way she subtly arches one brow. 

Varric scrambles to sit up, locking his arms behind her knees and yanking until she tips back against the bed with a delighted laugh. For first time since he walked through the door, he feels like he has a measure of control. Which is only because she's allowed it, but he'll take it nonetheless. 

Only he's not sure what to do first. Taste her, tease her, fuck her senseless. 

She makes the choice for him – and really, he's not surprised – when she untangles her legs and wraps them around his waist, squeezing. Biting back a curse, Varric leans forward and kisses her, mouth open and tongue running along her lower lip. Her hands grip the side of his face and the kiss is intense and deep and he slips into her, burying himself to the hilt and swallowing her satisfied gasp. She's hot and wet and he grits his teeth to keep from coming right then. 

He remains still for a moment, but Cassandra isn't happy with that. She pushes against him, nipping at his chin and spurring him into action. 

It only takes a few thrusts for them to find a rhythm, frenzied and hard. Varric straightens up to watch her, mouth parted for her breathless pants, eyes shut and a flush creeping over her chest and neck. She is magnificent, parted for him, writhing and gasping because of him. Her hands grip the bedsheets so tightly he can see her muscles bunch, her tits bouncing with every trust. 

He grabs her hips, anchoring her as he slams against her. Her hands abandon the sheets to grip his forearms, pulling herself up. She shifts and presses against him, slips her arms around his neck, bucking erratically. Her breath coming in hot gasps against his ear.

“Varric, please,” she pants, fingers digging painfully into his scalp. His name tumbles from her lips like a prayer and nothing has ever sounded more obscene, punctuated by the sound of their bodies together.

She has lost all rhythm, mindlessly grinding against him searching for release. Varric dips his hand between them, this thumb circling her clit and her entire body tightens around him, her gaze locked with his.

“Varric!” His name ends on a strangled cry when she tips over the edge, it's sudden and intense and she shudders and trembles as she rides out her release. She slips back down to the bed, pulling him with her. She rocks her hips once, and it's all the incentive he needs to find his own release. 

He thrusts into her, and she lifts her hips meeting him each time. So close, it doesn't take much before he's following her over the edge, coming so hard his vision blurs. 

“Shit,” he mumbles as he slumps forward, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. He rolls to the side, to keep from crushing her, and she follows him, tucking herself against him with a satisfied sigh. 

“That was...” he starts.

“Good?” she supplies, a finger tracing patterns over his chest. He can fell her smile against his shoulder.

“Not the word I was looking for. Mind-blowing, might be better.” 

She lifts her head and smirks. “Perhaps we should do it again sometime.” 

“Seeker, if you wear that fucking lace thing again, I swear on Andraste's holy ass that I will tear it off you.” And he will. He swears he will. 

“You can if you like,” she says lightly, and settles her head against his shoulder again. “I picked up two. The other one is red.” 

“That's not fair.” 

She laughs, low and breathy. “I never said my plan was fair.”


End file.
